


Awesome Foursome and the Philosopher's Stone

by Glade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asian Character(s), Black Character(s), Black Hermione Granger, Gen, Snape is a dick, Trans Female Character, Trans Hermione Granger, asian harry potter, first year, teaching Draco to not be such a bigot, white Draco Malfoy, white Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-11 16:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10469631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glade/pseuds/Glade
Summary: At Hogwarts, you sleep with people from other houses, to encourage intra-House bonding. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco end up living together. High-jinks ensue. Roughly follows the books plot, just in different ways





	1. A magic wand

**Author's Note:**

> Harry is determined to not be controlled by a Destiny. So he doesn't end up with 'his' wand, but rather a more unusual one. Mr Ollivander doesn't know what to make of this.  
> (Many bits of this are copied from HP1)

The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.  
“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Hagrid must have jumped too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.  
An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.  
“Hello,” said Harry awkwardly.  
“Ah yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes.”  
Harry rolled his eyes at that, stopping Mr Ollivander before he could continue. “Never seen an Asian with green eyes before then?” he sniped, slightly annoyed.  
“Ahh, and there’s the famous Potter temper. He favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. Excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it- it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”  
Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry had to stop himself from taking a step back, unnerved to be stared at so closely.  
“And that’s where...” Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead with a long white finger. “I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands...Well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do...”  
He shook his head and then, to Harry’s relief, spotted Hagrid. “Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again...Oak, sisteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”  
“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid.  
“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?” said Ollivander, suddenly stern.  
“Er- yes, they did, yes,” said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. “I’ve still got the pieces though,” he added brightly.  
“But you don’t use them?” said Mr Ollivander sharply.  
“Oh, no, sir,” said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.  
“Hmm,” said Mr Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. “Well, now- Mr Potter. Let me see.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”  
“Err- well, I’m right handed,” said Harry.  
“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”  
Harry suddenly realised that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.  
“That will do,” said Mr Ollivander, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor.   
Mr Ollivander came around with a single box in his hands. “Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.” Harry didn’t miss the way Mr Ollivander’s eyes leapt to his scar as he opened the box and held it out, and Harry felt the stirrings of Destiny, a fate he didn’t want creeping down his neck.  
Harry hesitantly reached for the wand, and gave it a small wave, determined that this would not be his wand. A few desultory red sparks flew out the end, as well as an overpowering stench of rotting flesh.  
“Clearly not,” said Mr Ollivander, clearing the air with a wave of his own wand. “Never mind, I’m sure we’ll find the right one!”  
After that, Harry tried what felt like every wand in the shop.   
“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll...” Mr Ollivander faltered, peering into the back of a shelf recently emptied of wands. Hesitantly, he pulled out a final box, considerably dustier than the others. Harry watched him blow the dust off, then open it. Mr Ollivander stared into the box for nearly a minute before finally bringing it over.  
“Yew and unicorn hair, 7 inches.”  
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and two ribbons- one yellow, the other black- shot from the end like a magic trick.  
Hagrid whooped and clapped, and Mr Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh very good. Well, well, well...how curious, how very curious...”  
He put Harry’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious...curious...”  
“Sorry,” said Harry, “but what’s curious?”  
Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. “I remember every wand I’ve ever made, Mr Potter. Every single wand. After He Who Must Not Be Named rose to power, I threw out every yew wand I still had in stock. Do you know the symbology of the yew tree, Mr Potter?”  
Harry mutely shook his head, staring at Mr Ollivander.   
“Yew trees represent death, Mr Potter. They were commonly planted in graveyards to protect the dead, and so they have over the years become synonymous with death. After He Who Must Not Be Named rose to power, I destroyed all my yew wands. Except this one.” He paused for a second, remembering his history. “Unicorn hair, on the other hand is not combined with yew, as a general rule. The purity of the unicorns doesn’t interact well with the yew. This one was an experiment. One I had forgotten until today.” Mr Ollivander stopped here to pierce Mr Potter with an intense look. “I am not sure what to make of you, Mr Potter. When you are ready for your destiny, come back here. That other wand will be waiting.”  
Harry shivered, and glanced at the first box Mr Ollivander had offered to him.


	2. Before Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Harry spends the month before Hogwarts. Pretty much a filler chapter

When Harry got home, he threw himself on to the bed without bothering to take his shoes off. He could still remember Mr Ollivander’s last words echoing around his head. ‘When you are ready for your destiny, come back here. That other wand will be waiting.’ That one word. Destiny. Harry did not want a destiny, thank-you-very-much. He wanted to grow up as Just Harry, not Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He sighed. Not that he had much of a choice, he supposed. Maybe he should have gotten some extra books about wizarding history while he was in Diagon Ally. He pulled his glasses off, dropping them onto the bed next to him as he scrubbed his face with his hands.

His new snowy owl clapped her beak to get his attention, rustling her wings in the confines of her cage. “Sorry my love,” Harry said, patting the bed for his glasses. Finding them, he stuck them back on his nose and unlatched the cage, letting her out to explore the room.

While Hedwig hopped and flapped about the room, Harry unwrapped his new things, packing most things into the trunk but leaving some of the more interesting looking books, as well as ink and quills, on the desk.

“Boy! Dinner!” Uncle Vernon’s voice rang up the stairs. Harry sighed, and put down the book he was about to read- Magical Theory. He turned towards the door and immediately stubbed his toe on the new trunk, causing the lid to slam shut. Hopping and cursing, he reached the door and leant on it for a moment, rubbing his foot, before heading down for dinner.

Dinner that night was a tedious affair. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had clearly decided to just ignore him, and while it was fun in the beginning to torment Dudley by making sudden motions towards him, that quickly grew boring. After dinner, Aunt Petunia swept the plates up before Harry had a chance to, leaving Harry feeling even more cut off than usual towards them.

Rather than hang around with them any further, Harry went back up to his bedroom, and started a letter to Hagrid. Learning to handle a quill took a few tries, but eventually Harry managed a passable scrawl.

_Dear Hagrid,_

_I got back to the Dursley’s safely. Thank you very much for showing me around Diagon Alley, it was very helpful._

While Harry was contemplating what else to write, his new owl flapped up onto his desk next to him and started biting the tip of the quill.

“Hey girl, that’s new,” Harry chided gently, pulling the quill out of his new pet’s mouth. “Do you want to go hunting?” She gave a head-bob at this, so Harry stood up and opened the window for her, leaving it open to enjoy the breeze after she had glided silently out.

_Do you have any advice on using a quill? Could I order a book from somewhere that explains the basics?_

_Looking forward to seeing you in September,_

_Harry_

Letter finished, he left the desk to lie down on the bed with his book. As he rolled over, something crinkled in his pocket. He pulled the envelope Hagrid had given him and opened it to look at the ticket. Harry’s first thought was that it didn’t look like normal train tickets, for starters, it was made of parchment. The border was decorated in gold foil, as was the large writing in the middle announcing that the train left from Platform 9 ¾ on Kings Cross station. Smaller writing, in black announced that the train ticket was from London to Hogwarts at 11:00 on September 1st, but didn’t specify how to get to platform 9 ¾. Harry frowned, and turned the ticket over, but the back was completely blank. Hagrid must’ve forgotten to mention how to get onto the platform.

Harry sighed, and jumped up to add a post-script to the letter to Hagrid.

_p.s. How do I reach platform 9 ¾? The train ticket doesn’t say._

The rest of the month passed as bizarrely as that day. The Dursley’s did their level best to ignore Harry as much as possible, up to and including not locking him in his new room or expecting him to do any of the housework. Harry spent much of the time up in his room anyway, reading his new textbooks and practising writing with quill and ink, as well as clearing up the dead mice Hedwig brought in.

On the last day in August, Harry went downstairs after dinner.

“Err, Uncle Vernon?”

Uncle Vernon grunted to show he was listening.

“Err, I need to be at King’s Cross tomorrow to go to my school.”

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

“Would it be alright if you gave me a lift?”

Grunt. Harry supposed that meant yes.

“Thank you.” He escaped to his room before the conversation could get any more surreal, and instead checked his list to make sure everything was packed ready for tomorrow.

They reached King’s Cross at half past 10 the next day. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry’s trunk and owl cage onto a trolley and left, claiming that they couldn’t be late for Dudley’s doctor’s appointment. Harry caught sight of Dudley’s terrified face in the mirror as they drove away, and felt like laughing. Instead, he wheeled his trolley around and headed towards platforms 9 and 10. Hagrid had suggested running at the pillar between the two platforms, but Harry didn’t really feel up for that. Instead he casually leant on the pillar and fell through, keeping a tight hold of the trolley so it couldn’t get stranded on the other side.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said _Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock_. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the pillar had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Three Quarters_ on it. He had done it.

Harry pushed the trolley down the platform, searching for an empty compartment. Hedwig woke up at the sound of the other owls hotting to each other and looked around interestedly. Dodging around various people, Harry eventually found an empty compartment near the end of the train and, after some heaving, managed to get both Hedwig and his trunk in the compartment before dropping into one of the chairs, breathing heavily.


	3. The Train Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ron meet Draco and Hermione on the train trip to Hogwarts

“D’you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.”

Harry gestured at the seat opposite him. “Sure, go for it. You’re Ron right? I think I remember hearing your mother talking to you on the platform.”

“Yeah.” Ron blushed as bright red as his hair. “No need to ask who you are, I guess.” He glanced at Harry’s forehead. Harry flattened his hair, slightly annoyed.

Before things got awkward, the trolley lady came rattling down the train, pausing outside each compartment. “Anything off the trolley dears?” she asked when she reached them.

“No thanks,” Ron replied gloomily, pulling out some squashed sandwiches. “I’m all set.”

Harry remembered what it’s like to never have anything nice, to always have the left-over sandwiches from off-cuts, and so pulled out a handful of money.

“We’ll take some of everything, please,” he firmly asked the trolley lady.

“Help yourself,” he told Ron, who blushed again at getting caught ogling the haul.

Ron immediately went for a chocolate frog, tapping the pentagonal box against his leg before opening it. “Thanks. Did you really grow up with the muggles? What are they like?”

Harry grinned at Ron across the compartment, avoiding the question. “I didn’t know about magic until a month ago, but it seems really cool.”

“I grew up with it, but my dad is always going on about the crazy stuff muggles do.” Ron replied around a chocolate frog. Before he could say anything else, the compartment door opened, and a blonde boy strutted in, flanked by two others.

“I heard someone say Harry Potter is in this compartment,” he sneered, running his eyes over Ron, then settling on Harry, lingering on his forehead. Harry flattened his hair again, wondering if there might be a charm to keep is down. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. You’ll soon find that some families are better than others, Potter. I can help you there.” He stuck his hand out, clearly expecting it to be shaken.

Harry didn’t need to glance at Ron to see what Ron thinks of this, and even if Ron wasn’t around, he wasn’t going to let some jumped-up wannabe insult his first friend. “I think I can find the wrong sort out for myself, thanks.” he replied coolly, ignoring the hand.

Before Draco could respond, an afro-haired black girl shoved her way past Crabbe and Goyle. “Has anyone seen a toad? Neville here has lost one.”

Harry peered around her to see a chubby boy standing in the corridor, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else. He gave what he hoped was a friendly smile to the boy, before he turned back to the girl. “Sorry, no. I expect the prefects will help though, they’re probably used to this sort of thing.”

“Oh, good idea, thanks!” the girl replied brightly, and hurried away, towing a reluctant-looking Neville behind her.

“Was there anything else you want, Malfoy?” Harry turned back to the blonde boy in the compartment, still annoyed at the insult to his new friend. His tone must have shown some of his anger, because Malfoy mumbled something unintelligible and left, still being trailed by his bodyguards.

“You probably shouldn’t’ve done that,” Ron said, sounding put-out. “The Malfoy’s are a really famous wizarding family, there’s no telling what they’ll do now you’ve insulted them.”

“I don’t care,” Harry replied firmly, “I can’t stand bullies and that’s all he is.” He opened a chocolate frog, and the frog jumped out, aiming for the window. Harry snatched it from the air, then suddenly realising what he did, dropped it in surprise. He stared at the frog, sitting innocently in his lap, but it doesn’t try moving again. “This is safe to eat right?” he asked, poking the frog.

“Wha? Yeah, course it is. Look, check the card, have you got Agrippa? She’s the only one I’m missing at the moment. Unless Fred and George have been through my collection again.”

Harry picked up the frog and bit its head off. The chocolate was excellent, not that he’d had many opportunities to experience it. He could count the number of times he’d had chocolate on one hand, and still have most of his fingers left over. Putting the now decapitated frog down again, he picked up the box to fish out the card, stabbing himself on a sharp corner. _It show_ _ed_ _a man’s face. He w_ _ore_ _half-moon glasses, and ha_ _d_ _a long crooked nose and flowing silver hair, beard and moustache. Underneath the picture_ _wa_ _s the name Albus Dumbledore._

“So this is Dumbledore!” said Harry, studying the picture some more. As he watched, the figure winked at him and exited the frame. “Hey, he’s gone!” Around the now empty picture frame was castle walls, and about then an indigo sky, dotted with stars. Turning over the card, Harry read aloud

“Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times. Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Gindlewald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragons blood and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.”

He looked back up at Ron to see Ron looking at him with a very bemused expression. “What, do muggle photos not move or something?”

Harry shook his head, and goes back to eating the rest of the chocolate frog. “So Fred and George are your brothers, right? Do you have many siblings?”

“Loads,” Ron moaned. “Charlie and Bill have already left, Percy is a prefect this year, Fred and George are pranksters and Ginny will be coming to Hogwarts next year. And everyone has been in Gryffindor. I have no idea what they’ll say if I’m not.”

“Well,” Harry started, then paused to decide the right words. “variety is never a bad thing, right? And wherever you end up, that doesn’t have to define your life. You still have choices about how to act and stuff.”

“I guess,” Ron replied, still not looking happy, “but imagine if they put me in Slytherin!”

“Wasn’t Merlin in Slytherin?” Harry asked, deliberately avoiding mentioning Voldemort.

“Was he?” Ron asked, sounding happier. “Huh, I never heard that. I guess I’ll just say that if I do end up there. Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad either.”

 

Later, when most of the sweets are eaten, the afro-haired girl knocked on their compartment door again. “Just wanted to say thanks for the tip about the prefects, the frog has now been found! Oh, I’m Hermione Granger by the way. I’m so excited to be going to Hogwarts, I’ve read all the books on our book list of course, I just hope that’ll be enough. People don’t seem to be that friendly towards muggleborns like myself, but no-one would give me a straight answer as to why.” She paused for breath, then continued more sedately. “Sorry, I get carried away sometimes. I’m just really excited.”

“Harry Potter,” Harry said, giving an awkward half-wave with one hand. “Ohmygosh, are you really?” Hermione asked, eyes flying towards Harry’s forehead, then back down again. She carried on before he could open his mouth to reply. “I’ve read all there is to know about you, of course, and how you defeated...you-know-who.” This last bit was said much quieter, as if to not draw attention to the name. Harry glanced at Ron, and Hermione took the cue to change the subject. She also glanced over at Ron, who cleared his throat nervously.

“Ron Weasley,”

“Pleasure,” Hermione replied. “Did you know that King Arthur named his spear Ron? I was looking into it for...well, I was interested in names for a while. Sorry, I’m info-dumping again, aren’t I? Anyway, I’d best let you two get changed, we should be arriving soon.”

Just as she left, a disembodied voice echoed through the train “We will be reaching Hogwarts in 5 minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”


	4. Presorting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travelling from the train station to Hogwarts, and Harrys first impressions of the Great Hall.

“Firs’-years over here!”

Harry and Ron got off the train amid the general rush, and immediately saw Hagrid over the heads of everyone else. Pushing that way against the general movement of the crowd, most of whom were taller and heading in the other direction, they eventually reached Hagrid’s side.

“Hey Hagrid,” Harry called, and Hagrid picked him out from the crowd.

“’Arry! Good to see you again! Firs’-years, over ‘ere. Alrigh’, is that everyone? Follow me now then! Firs’-years over ‘ere!”

The students followed Hagrid as he led them along a narrow path, most of the light from his lamp hidden by his bulk. The minimal light from the moon- just a few days from new- did little to light the path.

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.”

The narrow path suddenly opened out, revealing a large castle perched on the side of a mountain above a lake, its glass-smooth surface reflecting the many lit windows perfectly. Harry stopped dead, amazed by the view, while around him many students made appreciate noises.

Hagrid interrupted everyone before they’ve had their fill of the view. “No more’n four to a boat!” he called, pointing at the fleet moored at the edge of the lake. Harry took one more look before climbing into a boat with Ron. They were quickly followed by Draco, who smiled politely at Harry and completely ignored Ron, and then, right before the boat sets off after Hagrid, Hermione clambered awkwardly in. Draco took one dismayed look at her, then resolutely stared up, ignoring everything else to look at the stars, searching for his own constellation. Everyone else stared at the castle, still in awe at its size until the boats glided under a curtain of ivy, hiding it from view.

Eventually, after being carried underneath the castle, the boats stopped at a jetty, and the students began to clamber out. “Anyone lost a toad?” Hagrid called from his position at the back, where he was checking the boats as they emptied.

“Trevor!” Neville called out, sounding relieved, and hurried over to Hagrid to collect his errant pet. Hagrid led the way up a slimy, moss-covered staircase in the rock, emerging right in front of the castle. This close, the castle was even more impressive. Large, leaded windows flickered with the light from thousands of candles. From where they stood, Harry could see at least a dozen towers, and as many different building styles from where the castle had been extended at various times throughout its history. A flight of shallow stone steps led the way towards the giant wooden front doors, studded with iron bolts. Hagrid walked up these, taking the steps three at a time and everyone trailed obediently behind him like ducklings. He raised a giant hand and knocked on the door three times.

The door swung open immediately to reveal a black haired witch wearing emerald green robes and a matching pointed hat. Several of the students shied back from her stern expression as she glanced over the students.

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you Hagrid. I will take them from here.” She opened the door wider, and Harry got his first glimpse of the inside of Hogwarts castle. His first thought was that it was very large. A large house could comfortably be fitted inside- Harry wondered if there was a spell to move houses like that. He glanced up at the ceiling, but it was lost to the flickering shadows cast by the floating candles. A large black and white marble staircase dominated the opposite wall, a sharp contrast to the plain stone floor of the Entrance Hall.

Professor McGonagall led them swiftly across the Entrance Hall past the open doors which led to the Great Hall and into an ante-room to one side of it. The new students crowded together for comfort, looking around nervously.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” began Professor McGonagall, looking over the students more carefully than before. “The star-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony; it determines where you sit in the Great Hall for your meals as well as your classes. In order to encourage intra-house bonding as much as inter-house bonding, you will share living quarters with students from the other houses.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule breaking will lose you points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarted yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” At that Professor McGonagall swept from the room through a small door Harry suspected led into the Great Hall.

Harry swallowed nervously, and glanced at Ron. “Any idea what the Sorting is?” he asked

“Some sort of test?” Ron shrugged. “Fred said it hurt a lot, but I think he was joking.”

Draco scoffed from a few paces away, but turned away when Harry looked over at him rather than explain himself. Harry shared another look with Ron, then jumped as a handful of ghosts streamed in through the back wall, lowering the temperature startlingly.

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know- I say, what are you all doing here?” A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the students huddled together in the room.

“New students!” one of the ghosts- the Friar Harry supposed given his pearly clothes- said, smiling broadly around the room. About to be sorted, I suppose?”

A few students nodded, but no-one said anything.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” the ghost continued. “My house, you know.”

“Move along, move along,” came the voice of Professor McGonagall came from behind them all, and all the students turned as one to see her standing by the door, apparently having come back in while they were all distracted. “The Sorting’s about to begin.” The ghosts obediently glided through the wall into the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall swept her eyes over the group again, then led the way back out into the Entrance Hall and into the Great Hall from the end, the students obediently following her like a string of ducklings.

Harry could never have imagined what he was seeing. Thousands of candles floated around the room, casting wild shadows on the walls, suits of armour and the five tables that dominated the room. Four of them were laid lengthwise along the floor, the fifth raised above them and sideways where the teachers sat.

But the ceiling! It was black, dotted with stars and a faint sliver of a moon that made Harry suspect it reflected the outside sky. Hermione was whispering something behind him, but he was too busy making sure he didn’t trip over and trying to take everything in that he didn’t hear what she was saying. He made it to the front of the room without tripping over and watched Professor McGonagall place a stool and battered wizards hat in front of the teachers table.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the Sorting Hat got up to over the summer, and the Sorting.

The sorting hat was surprisingly not bored. Usually by the time the summer holidays had come around, there wasn’t anything of interest going on. This summer, however, meetings with Minister Fudge, Nicholas Flamel and now…

It turned its attention back to the headmaster’s office just as the headmaster perked up. “Come in, Mr Ollivander.”

Mr Ollivander walked in, looking amused. “How do you do that, headmaster?”

Professor Dumbledore merely smiled. “Sherbet lemon, Mr Ollivander? Please, sit down. What can I do for you today?”

Mr Ollivander sat down in the visitor’s chair. “It’s Mr Potter, headmaster. Normally I wouldn’t disclose anyone’s wand choice, but in Mr Potter’s case...” Mr Ollivander trailed off.

“Hmm?” the headmaster inquired when the silence had stretched too far. “I take it then, that Fawkes’s wand wasn’t the correct one?”

“No, or at least not at this time. It’s happened before, where children aren’t yet prepared to have their wand. Usually their interim- that’s the usual term, an interim wand- their interim wand is similar to their final wand. But in this case...” Mr Ollivander trailed off again, before taking a deep breath and continuing. “Mr Potter’s wand is unicorn and yew.”

Professor Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose several inches. “Unicorn? Hmm, how unusual. I wasn’t aware that yew and unicorn were ever combined.”

Mr Ollivander sighed. “It isn’t usually, because of the complete differences between them. I...experimented a bit when I was younger. Completely forgot that I had that wand left until it made itself known to me to give to Mr Potter the other day.”

“Ahh,” Professor Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling merrily. “I wonder what this means. I suppose it will become clear later. Was there anything else you wished to discuss with me?”

“Actually, yes,” replied Mr Ollivander, “you may want to have a word with your gamekeeper, Mr Hagrid. He should really learn some more discretion before I have to mention him to the Ministry for still using his wand. Plausible deniability and all that. Have a pleasant day, headmaster.”

As Mr Ollivander left the office, Professor Dumbledore turned to a window, gazing out at the forbidden forest. “So, Mr Potter is not yet prepared to meet his destiny. What can be done about that, I wonder,” he mused to himself, stroking his beard pensively.

The hat wondered what was going through the headmaster’s head. Certainly he’d never spoken about any student having a destiny before.

  


The final weeks before term started was more frantic than usual. Professor Dumbledore had many meetings with several of the other professors, but the extra wards he activated ensured that the hat couldn’t hear what was being spoken about. Whatever was going on, it didn’t prevent the hat being taken down to the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony.

  


As the hat sung its song and bowed to each of the house tables, most of its attention was on the new students, wondering who would be best suited to which houses, as well as who had started to make friends. All wizards and witches knew that the point of the Sorting Hat was to sort the new students and decide which groups the students should board in. Most wizards and witches knew that the Sorting Hat had been enchanted by the four Founders to do this. What very few, if any, wizards and witches knew was that most students were sorted by Hogwarts herself before they reached the Sorting Hat. Many of the students waiting nervously to be sorted were already split into groups of four, connected by magical coloured threads the Sorting Hat could see thanks to some nifty spellwork by Helga Hufflepuff. Naturally, there were some that Hogwarts had been unable to place, and she may have made some mistakes which the Hat had to correct, but there was already a rough plan in place, which made the first few Sortings easy.

In quick succession, “Abbot, Hannah!” became a Hufflepuff, “Bones, Susan!” became a Slytherin and “Boot, Terry!” became a Ravenclaw. The expected fourth member of their grouping was not yet sorted, but a quick glance in Hannah Abbot’s mind solidified the idea that Lisa Turpin would definitely be a Gryffindor.

The first Sorting which required some of the Hat’s more esoteric capabilities was “Granger, Hermione!” The Hat sifted through the train ride in great detail, before talking to Hermione directly.

“Hmm, what a lovely neat mind. I haven’t had one of those in far too long! Yes, this is the Sorting Hat. Oh dear, you are confused. I’m happy to answer any questions you have.” There was a pause while the Hat tried to keep up with all the questions fired at it too quickly.

“Oh, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind. I meant merely that you will face some very unique challenges and that I expect you have questions about that which you have been unable to find answers for. And before you ask, I am unable to tell anyone about this conversation, or anything that I’ve found out in your head.

“Ahh, you’re wondering how the wizarding world will view you. Yes, that is a problem. Even more so than your being muggleborn I’m afraid. The wizarding world is just as backwards as the muggle one. And I would suggest you stop telling everyone that you’re muggleborn. No? You would do well in Gryffindor, but you are definitely a Ravenclaw through and through at this point.

“The differences between wizard and witch magic? There are a few, particularly in arithmancy. But there’s nothing for you to worry about, magic senses your soul, and that is definitely female. Arithmancy? You’ll discover that for yourself later on.

“Wizarding treatments? That would be nice, but unfortunately not. I’m afraid you’re completely on your own there. But I’m sure that with your brains, and some excellent friends you’ll make don’t-you-roll-your-eyes-at-me-young-lady, you will make friends here. With the excellent friends you’ll make, you’ll succeed in anything you put your mind to. And on that note, RAVENCLAW!”

Hermione hopped off the stool, placed the hat on it, and then curtsied politely to the hat before heading off to the cheering table near the middle of the room.

When “Malfoy, Draco!” was called, the hat watched the blond-haired boy approach. He was connected to Hermione, Harry and Ron, but he did not have a coloured thread from him. The hat wondered what that meant until it was nearly on the boy’s head, when the hat became aware of the occlumency shields. Not bothering to break through them, the hat just called “SLYTHERIN!” before it actually touched the boy’s head.

Eventually, Professor McGonagall called ‘Potter, Harry!” and an expectant hush fell throughout the Great Hall. The hat watched the boy approach, noting the red thread he shared with Ron. Something was going to have to give there, but the hat wasn’t sure what quite yet. One of them was going to have to be Hufflepuff, although it seemed that both were destined to be Gryffindors.

“Hmm,” the hat said as it sifted though Harry’s memory of the train ride. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage I see. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, of my goodness yes- and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting. Oh, but what’s this?” The hat paused, looking at the memory of Harry’s wand selection. “You don’t want a destiny? Are you sure? You could be great you know, it’s all here in your head, and Gryffindor would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that- no? Well, if you’re sure- better be HUFFLEPUFF!”

The silence was absolute. Professor McGonagall lifted the hat almost by rote, looking almost shocked. Harry slipped off the stool, noting everyone staring at him. Harry slipped into an empty seat at the Hufflepuff table, slouching down in a bid to hide, and Professor McGonagall suddenly seemed to notice she was staring, and looked down at the list for the next person to sort.

As “Thomas, Dean!” was being sorted, Harry looked up at the High Table. Hagrid caught his eye and gave him a thumbs up, still looking rather shocked. Sat in the middle of the table, Harry recognised Professor Dumbledore from the chocolate frog card. He sat looking pensively at Harry, who quickly looked away; Professor Quirrel’s bright purple turban caught his eye, but he didn’t linger on it, instead looking back at the hat.

Dean Thomas quickly became a Gryffindor, as did (as the hat had expected) Lisa Turpin and Ron Weasley. And finally, “Zabini, Blaise!” became a “SLYTHERIN!” to complete his grouping.

Professor Dumbledore stood, and opened his arms to encompass all the students, and he was beaming at everyone. “Welcome. Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin out feast, I have just a few words to say. They are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Hermione is trans. It is going to come up properly in a few years (hello puberty!), but I wanted to lay the groundwork now.


	6. Living Quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sorting Feast and Draco, Hermione, Harry and Ron get to see their new living quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a few people have been sorted into different houses this time, for a few reasons. I want to have Dean and Seamus living together, and putting Seamus in Hufflepuff means we get to have the lovely 'dad's a muggle, mam's a witch' bit. I also want Neville to be a Huffle so he knows Harry more. Crabbe/Goyle are still Slytherin, etc. Others will come up when necessary.

After Professor Dumbledore made his unusual statement, he sat down and the food appeared on all the tables, surprising the first years. Harry glanced at the older students, then, deciding it must be normal, helped himself.

“So, Harry,” began the older student sat next to him, “bit of a surprise seeing you here. But welcome to Hufflepuff anyway. I’m Cedric Diggory, by the way, third year.”

Harry smiled at the older boy “Is he- a bit mad?” he asked hesitantly, referring to Professor Dumbledore.

“Mad? Completely. All geniuses are, comes with the territory!” Harry nibbled on a chicken drumstick as he tried to take that in.

On his other side, Seamus Finnigan was explaining “I’m half and half. Me dad’s a muggle, mam’s a witch. Bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out!” The other first years laughed.

What about you- Neville, right?” Harry asked the chubby boy sat opposite him.

“Well, my gran brought me up and she’s a witch, but the family thought I was all muggle for ages. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off-guard and force some magic out of me. They’ll be so disappointed I’m a Hufflepuff.”

“Nothing wrong with us Huffles, Neville!” Cedric said sternly, moving the mint humbugs out of the way for another dish. “After all, if we’re good enough for Harry Potter here!”

Harry glanced up at his name, then let his gaze wander back to the High Table. He wondered who all the teachers were- he recognised Professor Quirrell, still wearing his bright violet turban, but the sallow skinned Professor talking to him was unknown. Before Harry could turn around to ask Cedric who he was, the Professor glanced past Professor Quirrell straight at Harry, and Harry felt his scar give a painful jolt.

“Ouch!” Harry cried, clapping a hand to his forehead.

“What is it?” Cedric asked.

“N-nothing,” Harry said, relaxing again. “Who’s that Professor talking to Professor Quirrell?”

Cedric glanced up at the High Table himself. “That’s Professor Snape. He teaches potions, but everyone knows he wants Quirrell’s job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape does.”

 

After dinner and desert were finished, Professor Dumbledore stood up once more. The Hall fell expectantly silent, everyone staring at him.

“Ahem- just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you all.

“First years should note that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to all students. And a few our our older students should remember that as well.” Professor Dumbledore’s eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table, but Harry wasn’t sure who the headmaster felt particularly needed the reminder.

“Once again a new Defence against the Dark Arts Professor has been found, after Professor Slingbat’s rather unfortunate disappearance. I’m delighted to announce that Professor Quirrel has agreed to teach Defence against the Dark Arts.

“I have also been asked by Mr Filch, our caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death.

“And now, bedtime. First years please remain behind, you will be shown to your dormitories shortly. Off you trot!”

Slowly, the older students filed out of the Great Hall, chatting animatedly as they mingled by the doors. Eventually only the first year students were left, huddled at the ends of their tables.

The teachers had a quick discussion with the Sorting Hat, which was still sat to one side of the Hall, from which Professor McGonagall broke away first. She collected Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco from their respective tables, and led them out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase.

The four students were exhausted from their long day, so Professor McGonagall led them silently up staircases and secret passages behind tapestries before she reached a portrait of a very fat lady in a pink silk dress.

“Password?” she asked, peering at the new students.

“Caput Draconis,”Professor McGonagall announced formally, making Draco smile as the portrait swung forward to reveal an open doorway through which they all trooped.

A large bookcase dominated the wall on their left, near a large wooden table and four chairs. On the right was a large fireplace, in which a large fire blazed merrily. Cosy armchairs were arranged in front of it. Windows on the other two walls showed the night sky, and a single door was shut on the other side of the room.

“Each of you can access your private bedrooms through this door.” Professor McGonagall explained, “You are allowed company in your bedrooms before 8 thirty, simply hold whomever you wish to come with you when you open the door.” With that pronouncement, she left through the portrait back into the main school.

Wanting to be alone so he could think (and panic) without having to keep his pure-blood mask up, Draco quickly bade a polite goodnight to the other three, and left for his bedroom. His trunk had been placed at the foot of the bed there already. Draco sighed as he let his occlumency shields down, and felt the headache he’d been nursing since half way through the feast vanish. Several times while he brushed his teeth Draco found himself tensing, as though expecting the headache to reappear, but it didn’t. Teeth brushed, Draco flopped back onto the bed, frowning at the roof of the four-poster. He had to share space (and presumably befriend) a mudblood and a Weasley. He wasn’t convinced that getting to live with Harry Potter made up for that fact. Harry Potter, a Hufflepuff. His father was going to be so angry. He shuddered at that thought. But, he supposed that he couldn’t do anything about his living arrangements. How could Harry bloody Potter, of anyone, end up a Hufflepuff? Hid father was constantly going on about how simpering and weak they were, and if Potter was powerful enough to defeat the Dark Lord, he certainly couldn’t be weak. Maybe his father wouldn’t expect him to befriend Potter since he’s a Hufflepuff, Draco thought. Then he could spend the next seven years ignoring all his room-mates, and concentrate on the Slytherin house. Comforted by that thought, Draco drifted off into an uneasy sleep.


	7. Owl Post

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius orders, and Draco obeys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor poor Draco doesn't know how to make friends...(do not try this at home)

The next morning Draco didn’t wait for the others before heading down for breakfast. He hadn’t slept well, but concealing charms hit that fact from the other first years, just as his pure-blood mask hid his alarm when his father’s eagle owl landed in front of him with a short missive.

_Befriend him._

Draco stared at the two words, not really believing his eyes. His father wanted the Malfoy house connected with a Hufflepuff? Even if it was the boy-who-lived, he was a Hufflepuff? Maybe his father hadn’t heard that part? Even as he thought that, he knew it was a vain hope. His father was nothing if not thorough; Draco was sure he’d been informed of the sleeping arrangements and Houses of all the students just as quickly as an owl could fly- or quicker, Draco was fairly sure his father had safer and quicker methods of communication than owl post.

He blinked, and suddenly realised that he had been staring at the letter for far too long. Hastily pocketing it, he glanced around at the other Slytherin first years. At least they all knew the proper pecking order of things. They were chatting quietly amongst themselves, but stopped as soon as they noticed him look up at them all.

“Just father congratulating me,” he lied smoothly, reaching for the pumpkin juice with a feigned nonchalance. Inside, his thoughts were swirling. He had to befriend a Hufflepuff. His father wanted him to befriend a Hufflepuff. How was he supposed to befriend a Hufflepuff? Ruthlessly, he squashed those thoughts away. He could work that all out later. Right now he had a table of Slytherins to impress.

He glanced at his timetable as he left the Great Hall to collect his books for the first class. Transfiguration then DADA. With the Ravenclaws and then the Gryffindors. He frowned, then scanned his timetable more thoroughly. He wasn’t going to have any classes with the Hufflepuffs until Thursday afternoon, for flying. And then Friday, for Herbology and Potions. Great. He imagined that Dumbledore must’ve spent the night re-writing the timetables to try and keep Hufflepuff away from Slytherin as much as possible, Merlin curse the man. He would work out how to befriend Potter later, right now, he had to get to class.

Draco kept his mind firmly on the portrait of the Fat Lady as he headed up the stairs. The last thing he wanted was to get re-routed because the magic in Hogwarts couldn’t keep track of where he wanted to go. He reached the Fat Lady without any major incidents, and collected the books he would need for the first lessons without bumping into his roommates, for which he was very grateful. He wanted to have a plan in place before talking to any of them again.

He wasn’t sure where the transfiguration classroom was, so he followed his father’s advice to think hard about where he wanted to go, and eventually Hogwarts deposited him on the fourth floor. He only had to wander down two corridors until he found the door labelled ‘Transfiguration Classroom 1’. He only had to wait a few minutes- fretting nervously about how to deal with ‘the Potter situation’ before the other Slytherins started arriving, trickling in from whichever direction their sleeping quarters were located.

What did he even know about Potter, anyway? His father was always telling him that Hufflepuffs weren’t worth dealing with, even though they were easily manipulated. ‘Just a bunch of duffers’. Draco smirked slowly. He could manipulate people. Well, he thought he could anyway. His father had explained the basics often enough, when complaining about Fudge and other highly-powered members of the Ministry. Money and power. That’s all it ever came down to. Well, money wasn’t exactly going to work at Hogwarts, at least not until third year, but power. That he had in spades. Now, how to show that off to Potter…

He only remotely heard the door to the transfiguration classroom open, but trooped obediently in with the others. By the end of that first transfiguration class, he knew two things. One: that Hermione Granger was a busy-body who knew everything about class, so he had no chance of impressing Potter that way, and two: that trying to transfigure matchsticks into needles was really hard when the teacher was busy praising a mudblood for managing something before he could. He slipped a box of matches into his pocket as he left the class, determined to not be shown up by any stupid mudblood.

Draco stopped listening to the DADA Professor- Quarrel, Quivel, something like that anyway, after about 5 minutes, instead going back to plotting how to impress Potter. He nearly dropped his head on his desk when it came to him. The first class they had together was flying. He knew how to fly. Pretty damn well really. He just had to impress Potter with his flying, and then convince Potter that he, Draco, was the best person to teach him how to fly- obviously not as well as he could- but reasonably well.


	8. The Flying Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has been looking forward to flying for a while. The reality is so much better than his expectations

Harry spent much of the first week confused, awed and impressed by turns. He met Hermione and Ron every morning to go down to breakfast- which always involved getting lost at least twice- and then split from them to attend his classes. And the classes- Harry was amazed by the range of things magic could do. Turning matchsticks into needles (or even the vague approximation he had managed) was nearly as impressive as the goblin wars a _ghost_ was teaching. And learning about vampires from the stuttering Professor Quirrel was interesting, even if he wasn’t quite convinced that Quirrel had actually ever fought one.

In the evenings Hermione pestered them to get on with all their homework and Ron whined and taught them both the basics of wizards chess. Hermione begged off after the first time one of Ron’s knights crushed a pawn, complaining about how barbaric the whole concept was. She instead spent the time curled up with a text-book or some other large tome full of esoteric knowledge from the library. Harry was also enjoying the section of children’s books- both magical and muggle- hidden in a dusty corner of the library.

All that changed on Thursday when Harry had his first flying lesson. He had been up late the night before at their weekly astronomy lesson, and yawned as she sat down next to Neville and pulled the jug of pumpkin juice towards himself.

Neville ignored him, too busy grilling Cedric about flying and controlling the broomstick. When he moved onto flying injuries, Cedric decided he had had enough of Neville’s nerves.

“Neville, stop,” he said firmly. “Breathe. You will be fine. Madam Hooch is an excellent teacher. And if something does go wrong, Madam Pomfrey is amazing and can fix almost everything. Pain isn’t permanent after all.” Neville blanched. Clearly he didn’t share Cedric’s blasé attitude to pain.

All that day, Harry was distracted. He loved the idea of flying, and his dream about the flying motorbike kept popping into his head at bad times, stopping him from concentrating on the match he was still trying to turn into a needle. He was half-convinced that the clocks had all been hit with a time slowing jinx. But eventually half 3 rolled around, and Harry hurried out of the classroom, yelling a quick “Bye!” to Hermione who was still sat in her chair rolling up her scroll of notes.

He raced down the stairs, hovering impatiently at the bottom of each set until it was close enough to the floor to jump the rest of the way, too preoccupied to note that he wasn’t getting as turned about by unhelpful stairs as usual.

He tugged the heavy doors open and ran for the broom shed, reaching it just as the other students all left the main castle, walking towards him far more calmly. The rest of the class arrived just as Madam Hooch came out of the shed with an armful of brooms. She dropped them in favour of her wand which she flicked, sending the brooms to lie in two straight lines.

“Alright then, what are you all waiting for. Everyone to the left side of a broom.” There was a brief scuffle while all the Slytherins tried to get to the best brooms. Harry stepped up to his one, and was surprised to see Malfoy facing him. They hadn’t seen each other since their first night at Hogwarts, and here he was smiling at Harry. Harry turned to Madam Hooch, not sure what to think. Ignoring him seemed the best bet for now. He turned back to Madam Hooch just as she raised a whistle to her lips. Before she could blow, Neville took off, flying crazily around the sky. Harry, along with everyone else watched him, ignoring their brooms which all dropped back to the floor after a few minutes of inaction.

Eventually Neville couldn’t keep a grip on his broom any more and fell with a large crack and a scream of pain. Madam Hooch was the first one to reach him and helped him up, gently cradling his wrist against any more sudden shifts.

“None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing! You leave those brooms right where they are or by Merlin you’ll be on the Hogwart’s Express before you can say Quidditch!” she ordered brusquely as she started helping Neville towards the doors to Hogwarts.

“Oh, hey, look!” Malfoy called, suddenly darting forward and pulling something small out of the grass. “The fat lump’s dropped that thing from his Grandma!”

“Give that here, Malfoy,” Harry said, stepping forwards. His broom from earlier zipped unbidden into the hand Harry instinctively threw out to catch it. Malfoy’s eyes widened when he saw that, but still mounted his own broom and kicked off.

“How about I leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect? How about up a tree?” he called when he was hovering a few feet off the ground. He was clearly unused to riding a broom with one hand; he kept gripping and re-gripping and adjusting his seat, causing the broom to wobble a bit in place.

Harry didn’t have to think twice about it. He hated bullies and he _desperately_ wanted to try flying. He swung onto his broom and kicked off, slightly too hard as he shot up into the sky. A broad grin spread across his face. Flying was the best thing he’d ever experienced! Suddenly remembering what he was supposed to be doing, he sunk again until he was slightly above Malfoy.

“Give it here, Malfoy” he called, feeling the wind in his hair and instinctively knowing how to adjust his seat to not get blown about.

Malfoy looked rather discombobulated at how well Harry was flying, and it took him a second to remember what they were talking about. “You want it Potter? Go get it!” He threw the glass ball into the air towards the sun.

Harry spun around, eyes tracking the sparkling even as he willed more movement out of the broom towards the ground. Ignoring the gasps and screams from the crowd he flattened himself along the broom, feeling it shudder under his grip as he fought for more speed, eventually catching the remembrall a foot from the ground. He suddenly remembered the ground and tried to turn the broom before he crashed. He was half successful- the broom crashed but he had managed to turn it enough that he could leap from it and land almost elegantly, the ball still clutched in one hand.

“Mr Potter!” came a harried sounding voice from behind him. He slowly turned. A short professor he didn’t recognise stood there, her robes mud-stained and torn in a number of places. “And you Mr Malfoy,” she added, seeing that Malfoy was still in the air. Malfoy landed, looking furious. Silently they dropped the brooms on the ground and followed her around the side of the castle towards the greenhouses. She tapped her wand on the door of the first one and entered, the two boys following her.

“I am Professor Sprout,” she began, “and I am most displeased with what I saw. You were both explicitly told to stay on the ground while Madam Hooch dealt with your classmate, and yet I find both of you in the air. What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Harry said nothing, staring at her desk rather than her. There was never any point trying to explain himself to an adult, he knew, and he didn’t imagine that here would be any different. Next to him Malfoy was also silent.

Professor Sprout sighed. “Never mind. That will be a point from both Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Mr Malfoy, you’re dismissed. Potter, come with me.”

Draco left, seething. His attempt to impress Potter with his flying had backfired spectacularly. Not only had Potter out-flown him somehow, but he would surely blame him, Draco for the whole event. Not what he had intended at all.

Since the flying lesson was surely over by now, and he had no other classes for the day, he headed towards the Great Hall for dinner. He then skulked around the dungeons until Professor Snape told him to go and do something productive so he left and skulked around the library, staying out of sight of everyone. He avoided going back to the Fat Lady until very near curfew, hoping to continue avoiding the others. Unfortunately, his luck had clearly run out and he found Potter waiting up for him, the other two nowhere to be seen.


	9. Unlikely Friendships part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tells Draco off, and Draco starts trying to change. An interesting discussion on the Hogwarts staircases ensues.

Draco stopped dead, and let his smile drop from his face. Potter had clearly been waiting for him, and now he stood up. He was a couple of inches shorter than Draco, which Draco would normally use to his advantage, but today he felt like doing anything less.

“Neville’s fine,” Potter said, then paused, clearly unsure what else to say. Draco nodded mutely, resisting the urge to sneer at the memory of the clumsy oaf losing control of his broomstick.

Potter opened his mouth again, hesitated, then ploughed in. “Y’know Malfoy, everyone keeps telling me that I should just do my best to ignore you for my time here, because of your dad. But I don’t know your dad, and I don’t want to judge other people based on their families. I came to Hogwarts to learn magic and to hopefully make some friends. And to get away from my cousin, but mostly that’s just a bonus,” he added, almost as an aside to himself. “But,” he carried on, standing up straighter to appear slightly taller, “what I did not come here to do is pander to another bully like my cousin. So if your intent is to bully everyone here then you can… you can shove off but otherwise I’d quite like to be your friend.”

Draco stared at the smaller boy, completely taken aback. Potter also, it seemed, hadn’t quite thought of what to do after his speech and shuffled nervously from foot to foot for a while. “Well, just, just think about it, alright? Because I don’t want other people telling me who I can or cannot be friends with.” He turned on his heel and left for his room, pressing his hand to the panel beside the door before walking through and vanishing into his bedroom.

Draco spent much of that night awake, tossing and turning as he considered his options. He had been ordered by his father to befriend Potter. Disobeying that order was not a possibility he particularly wanted to consider. That left befriending Potter as the only viable option. He thought over what Potter had said to him. He wasn’t a bully, he simply knew his place in the social hierarchy. It wasn’t his fault that the others didn’t.

He sighed. He had to befriend Potter. That part was non-negotiable, thanks to his father. That meant accepting whatever terms Potter gave him. And it seemed that Potter’s terms were that he would be nice to his friends. Quite how he was supposed to do that he had no idea. He sighed again and rolled over. Maybe there might be a book about it in the library.

The next day, Hermione woke early, and quickly dressed. She wanted to check the uses of dittany in potions before class, and wasn’t sure which of the potions books on the shelves would mention it.

She entered the common room, and came to an abrupt stop. Malfoy was there, clearly waiting for someone. He stood up when he saw her.

“Malfoy,” she said flatly, running a finger along the row of potion books. She thought she remembered reading it in Marlow, Marrow, something like that, anyway. She found the book and pulled it down.

“Miss Granger,” Malfoy replied, not in his sneering voice. Surprised, she turned to face him. He was frowning, and kept rubbing his fingers together nervously. He looked down at his fingers and frowned, moving them behind his back. “I wanted to apologise for how I’ve been treating you.” Hermione eyed him, trying not to react; she wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. She twisted her hair instead. He went on. “I would like a second chance to get to know you, if you are amenable?”

She was saved from having to answer this by the arrival of Ron and Harry. Harry smiled brightly at Draco, which Hermione wondered at- did Harry know what might have caused the sudden shift in Malfoy’s behaviour?

“Breakfast?” he asked brightly, before Ron could say whatever he looked to be gearing up to.

“Certainly,” Malfoy replied smoothly, pushing open the portrait and standing aside. “Ladies first.” He gestured politely to Hermione, who went a bit pink but strode through the doorway first anyway, book still in hand. She heard the others come through after her, and smiled at Ron when he came up next to her. She listened happily to him gushing about Harry becoming Cedric's protege all along the corridor and down the stairs, only half noticing the staircase changing direction as the conversation move to the transfiguration lesson.

“Stop it!” Malfoy hissed at them. She turned to look at him, confused.

“Stop what?” she asked, confused.

“We’re going down to breakfast, Granger, not to transfiguration!” he said angrily, “Stop thinking of transfiguration!”

She glanced around at the others, very confused, and was somewhat relieved to see the others looking just as confused as she felt.

“Malfoy,” Harry said calmly and firmly, “calm down, and then explain. We don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

Malfoy closed his eyes, and breathed deeply a few times. The staircase reached its new destination, but no-one left it, too busy staring at Malfoy. Eventually he opened his eyes again. “None of you know how the staircases work?” he asked, a hint of his old sneer in place.

“No?” Harry asked. “You mean there’s a knack to it? I just assumed that they randomly move around.”

“Merlin’s beard Potter, why would they be random?" he sneered. Harry raised his eyebrow and stared at him, and Malfoy dropped his gaze. “Sorry, I forget you were raised essentially as a mud-muggle.”

“So, the trick is…?” Harry asked, folding his arms.

“Think about where you’re going of course. It helps focus your brain, which in turn improves your magic.”

The others gaped at him. Malfoy rolled his eyes, then deigned to explain further. “Magic happens based on your intent. Don’t ask me to go into the details now Granger, you’ll learn all about it later. The point is, the stronger your will, determination, focus, whatever you want to call it is, the better your spells will work.”

Hermione shut her mouth with a snap, all annoyance at Malfoy gone in the face of new and interesting magic to research. “So, we all just need to concentrate on the Great Hall for this staircase to take us there? Or just nearly there?”

“Nearly there,” Malfoy replied, smiling at her interested question. “There is still some other limitations on where the staircases can go, but they’ll help you get to your location. Some say that they can even work at locating moving things if your will is strong enough.”

“So, breakfast then,” Harry said cheerfully, patting the bannister of the staircase they were standing on. Obediently, the staircase set off, moving down a couple of floors before depositing them on the fourth floor and floating away.

On the rest of the trip down to breakfast, Hermione pestered Malfoy for information about the staircases, and why such knowledge wasn’t given to the students when they first arrived. Malfoy only got a break when they reached the Great Hall and had to separate to their respective house tables.

Malfoy headed over to the Slytherin table, quickly fixing his pureblood mask on. It had been fascinating talking to Granger, and rather ego-boosting to be the one to explain some aspect of magic to her, rather than constantly coming in second place- he had even forgotten for minutes at a time that she was a mud-blood, something he was sure his house-mates would be quick to remind him of.

And indeed, Parkinson was already eyeing him up. “What were you doing with the mudblood?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. The effect was wasted on him though, he knew that whatever he said would reach his father within the day.

He paused to consider what to say, pretending to be too busy choosing food to bother replying to her. Eventually, he said ‘Preparing for war,” and started eating, making a careful note of everyone's reactions.


	10. The Potions Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has his first herbology and potions lessons. Snape is Snape...

Harry firmly put Draco out of his mind over breakfast, instead concentrating on brushing off Neville’s enthusiastic thanks about the Remembrall incident. As soon as he took the delicate glass ball off Harry, it immediately filled with red smoke. He frowned, not having the slightest clue _what_ he could have forgotten, until Cedric glanced down the table at the pair of them.

“Neville, where are your robes?” Neville glanced down at his school clothes, only now seeming to realise that he wasn’t wearing the robes that went over the top.

He stood up. “No idea. I’ll run and grab them before herbology.” A loud snigger drew Harry’s eyes to the Slytherin table, where Goyle was pointing and laughing at Neville as he hurried out of the Great Hall. He caught Draco’s eye, and Draco abruptly stopped laughing, turning away from Harry. He sighed and rubbed his head. ‘ _Rome wasn’t built in a day,’_ he thought tiredly.

Neville caught up to Harry, Seamus, Susan and Justin just as they left the Entrance Hall, having to skirt carefully around a cat dozing peacefully in a beam of sunlight illuminating a large strip of the front steps. Together they wandered towards the greenhouses, keeping a distance from the Slytherins who had come out after them.

They stood around awkwardly for a few minutes, shivering in the shade and cold wind until Professor Sprout came around the side of the greenhouse and tapped the door with her wand to unlock it. “Everyone in,” she announced, and they all trooped obediently in, the Slytherins pushing and jostling to get in out of the wind first. Professor Sprout winked at Harry as he entered the building last, and the door shut itself behind him.

Professor Sprout strode to the front of the greenhouse, and stood up on a small dais to see everyone. “My name is Professor Sprout, and this is one of the greenhouses you’ll be using over the coming years. Although most of what you’ll be learning here doesn’t involve spells and incantations, you’ll be well advised to pay close attention to your surroundings. The bouncing bulbs can be a trifle distracting.”  As though they had been waiting for this cue, a trio of small, misshapen brown blobs bounced their way across the long workbench in front of the Professor and into a pot on the other side. Harry and Neville exchanged excited looks. “Don’t worry though, there isn’t anything dangerous in this greenhouse. Everyone pair up at a bench and I’ll run through today’s lesson. Today we’ll be re-potting weeping ferns. This is commonly used to...”

T he bell rang, surprising them all. Neville jumped, nearly dropping his fern but managing to catch it just in time. “Homework!” Professor Sprout’s voice was easily heard above the noise of everyone removing gloves and stretching. “10 inches about the weeping ferns and related plants. Include how to spot them in the wild and the best way to harvest them.” Everyone made a note of that in their diaries, and left the building, heading back towards the castle for lunch. Draco tried to slide into Harry and Neville’s conversation about the weeping ferns, but Harry glared at him until he left them to it,  instead striding off to talk to a Slytherin Harry didn’t recognise. 

After lunch, Draco pulled the proverbial rank to ensure he sat next to Harry- on the other side of Neville, who promptly turned away from him and pushed his scales off the desk. Harry scowled at him, but before he could open his mouth to say anything, the door at the back of the room opened and Professor Snape came striding through, cloak billowing behind him.  Draco instinctively sat up straighter, determined to impress his almost-uncle, who had filled so many of his summers with potion lessons. 

As Professor Snape started his speech about ‘brewing fame’ and ‘putting a stopper on death’, Harry was ensnared as much as the others by his voice, almost hypnotically calm and powerful. A few seconds in, however, he snapped out of it, and hastily started taking notes. Snape seemed like the sort of person to expect everyone to take notes without being told; he’d met that sort of teacher in primary school.

Eventually the man wound down his speech, and Harry looked up from where he had been wrestling with the quill in time to see him scowl. Wondering what he had done wrong this time, he almost glanced at Neville before Snape stopped him by talking again.

“Mr Potter, our new _celebrity.”_ Harry nearly scowled, but thought better of it. Not displaying any emotion was always the safest bet until he knew what was going on. “Tell me Potter, where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?” Harry thought frantically, but couldn’t place the name- he wasn’t even sure if he’d heard it before, but he supposed he must’ve done if it was expected knowledge on the first day. Next to him, Draco made an aborted motion to do _something_ , but he had no idea what to think. He shook his head, mutely. “No? Well, perhaps you could tell me the difference between monkswood and wolfsbane?” At this, Draco raised a hand, perfectly straight and calm. Harry hadn’t heard of either of the plants, and so shook his head again. “No? Well, what would you get if you mixed powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” Draco’s spine straightened, and he raised his hand, if possible, even higher. Harry said nothing, not having the slightest clue what he was supposed to do.

Professor Snape sneered, and turned back to the rest of the class. “For your information, Potter, a bezoar can be found in the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons. Monkswood and wolfsbane are two names for the same plant; it also goes by aconite. And powdered asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so strong it is known as the Draught of Living Death.” Harry blinked, suddenly released from the trance Snape’s words were putting him into by the jarring reality of hearing the capital letters in the name of the last potion. “Why aren’t you all writing this down?”

Harry tried not catching Draco’s eye, but Snape paired the two of them to make a simple boil cure together. By the end of the lesson Harry had a headache from the fumes of the potions as well as keeping his temper on a very short leash. Snape had made a point to criticise everything he had done, whilst simultaneously praising Malfoy and the other Slytherins, and his instant unfair criticism that Harry should’ve managed to stop Neville accidentally destroying his cauldron in a hiss of green smoke.

Harry left as soon as the class was dismissed, desperately wanting to lie down for a while before dinner. He hurried up the staircases, trying to keep his mind on his planned destination rather than dwelling on the potions lesson and Snape, the potions teacher. Wondering why any given adult hated him was pointless; all he could do was work out how best to survive 7 years worth of lessons with him without snapping. He was so focussed on focussing on the portrait of the fat lady that he didn’t notice the tabby cat chasing him until she led the way into the common room, tail held high as she surveyed the surroundings.

 

“Hey,” he chastised gently, trying to catch her to put her outside. “This isn’t where your human lives.” After an attempt at scratching him he figured was half-hearted at best, he left her alone to curl up in front of the fire, and entered his room, not even bothering to take off his shoes before dropping onto the bed and falling asleep.


End file.
